


Vincent, P.I.

by Calvi_sama, Rapscallion



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Crack, Gen, actually possession is giving it too much credit, minor characters - Freeform, minor original characters, no logic of any kind really, possession?, post-DoC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 07:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5120825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calvi_sama/pseuds/Calvi_sama, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rapscallion/pseuds/Rapscallion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Gold Saucer might be defunct these days, but Dio is still in the resort business. Cid and Vincent are hired to investigate a series of incidents in the hotel, but the problem they uncover has nothing to do with food being stolen. Post-canon crackfic in which Vincent has trouble seeing things from another's perspective, Dio is obsessed, unexplained phenomena and high heels may or may not be involved, and Cid drinks through it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vincent, P.I.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi folks! Actually using my account to post something for once instead of just piggybacking on Cal's account. Happy Halloween for those who celebrate-- this one is sort of in the spirit. It is not, however, in the spirit of logic or any sort of sensemaking. Expect worse than normal organization, loose ends, and improbabilities, but most importantly, enjoy!

The job should have been simple enough; that was the reason they’d taken it. Well, that and the fact that Cloud had called in a favor, and not even Vincent could really turn him away this time. Cloud had perfectly valid reasons to avoid setting foot in Dio’s new resort; he’d been arrested the first time he’d gone to the Gold Saucer, and the second time had led, albeit indirectly, to Aerith’s death. It didn’t seem to far a stretch to think that equally bad things might happen at the new place.

Besides, spying was more up Vincent’s alley, anyway, and Cid was glad to stretch the wings of his latest salvaged wonder. The pilot wasn’t much of a spy, but the hotel had room service and the pool area extended onto the beach. A little extra bronze to his skin wouldn’t be any trouble for Vincent’s eyes.

So he’d parked a slightly pouty Cid in a lounge chair with one of those drinks with the little umbrella, and then he’d gone off to assess some stakeout positions.

Dio claimed that someone was stealing from his kitchens, as the costs and profits hadn’t been adding up and guests and kitchen staff alike had mentioned hearing scuffling noises. Probably just an animal, if it was anything; Vincent suspected by Dio’s aversive manner that he had just been trying to lure in a certain ex-SOLDIER.

It wasn’t the supremely basic, grunt-level work that bothered Vincent; it was the people that surrounded him. They were self-obsessed, all of them, and one or two had even dared to try to order things from him. “Do I look like a waiter?” he finally asked one of the wait staff, who boggled at him and then made a rude gesture.

They even had the nerve to complain about him taking up space! When he stood by the sink, he was in the way. When he stood near the door, he was in the way. When he lurked in the cooler, he was in the way and “too creepy,” to boot; when he lurked in the air duct he got constant facefuls of various types of unpleasantness from the kitchen below.

Vincent was out of practice and out of patience. Dio could do all of this himself, and Vincent would go back to the mercenary slaying of monsters. It was probably just some layabout who couldn’t be bothered to work for food, and Vincent told the uncomfortable-looking staff as much as he left to find Cid.

On his way out, his storming was cut off by a crying young woman who, failing to look where she was going, quite nearly knocked him over.

Vincent cursed loudly— too much time spent with Cid— and dusted himself off before continuing to walk. Only a few steps later, a young man pushed him bodily aside, slamming him hard against the wall. Ruffled and indignant, Vincent straightened himself again and continued walking, thinking of just how silly and useless the average citizen was.

A voice seemed to fill his mind as he stepped into the elevator. _“Having some trouble seeing through the eyes of others?”_ it said, singsong and androgynous. “ _Perhaps it’s time to try walking in their shoes.”_

Vincent turned, trying to find the source of the voice, but the only thing he found of note was that he no longer seemed to cast a reflection in the shiny walls of the elevator.

 

 

Cid was on his third fancy umbrella drink when he finally checked a clock.  Vincent was certainly taking his sweet time with his “spying”, as he had so quaintly put it.  Cid, ever the excluded, was reduced to drinking and sticking paper umbrellas in curious places to see how long it would take someone to notice, which turned out to be a rather long time.  He wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or a little frightened.  With a sigh, he plucked the tiny umbrella out from behind his ear and tossed it down onto the table.  Cid stood up and was about to start looking for Vincent when he remembered that his friend had told him to stay put, so, grumbling under his breath, he sat back down and flagged over a waiter.  “’Nother one o’ these thingies,” he said by way of ordering, waving the little umbrella in the waiter’s face.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said flatly and turned to walk away when Cid caught his arm.

“I’m a-lookin’ for my friend, ya seen him?” he asked, scratching his head absently.

The waiter blinked slowly and raised an eyebrow.  “Why yes sir, I have,” the waiter said in a bored tone.  “I’ve seen your friend, his friend, her friend and Bob the dog.”

“Bob th’ dog?” Cid asked confusedly.  “Who th’ hell is- oh hell, never mind.  M’friend, y’know, th’ guy in the red cape?”

“Oh _him_ ,” the waiter said and shuddered.  “Creepy guy with the black hair?  Last I saw of him, he was crawling into the air ducts.  If I might make a suggestion, sir?  You may want to increase his dosage.  His behavior is beginning to bother the staff.”

Cid’s mouth snapped shut and if he hadn’t imbibed as much alcohol as he had, he probably would have done something both he and Vincent would have regretted and at the very least gotten them tossed out of the resort.  As it was, Cid only blinked, his brain taking a painful couple of minutes to think about what the waiter had said before finally shrugging and making an expression that loosely translated to “Well…”  _Wait a minute,_ he thought.

“Now see here, Vincent’s just as normal as you or me!” he started to argue, but the waiter had left.  Cid sighed heavily and slumped back in his chair.  Vincent had better hurry up.  He was done drinking and he wanted to do something else that involved a lot of Vincent and a lot less clothing.

*******

Vincent sighed and continued waving in Cid’s face. His lack of a reflection had persisted as he passed by many placid bodies of water which should have reflected him. Moreover, either Cid was incredibly drunk or Vincent was…what, invisible? He sighed again and dropped his hand. It would be good for finding out who was sneaking into the kitchens, so there was that.

But Vincent very much wanted to let Cid know what had happened, because Cid wouldn’t like it if Vincent didn’t and Vincent wouldn’t like it if Cid became upset. Possibly Vincent was beginning to feel a bit of panic at his situation. It was all very well and good to be socially invisible, but physical invisibility was never indicative of anything good.

Waving at Cid was doing no good, nor was shouting at him. What had the voice said? Something about shoes?

Vincent glanced around, seeing rows upon rows of shoes abandoned by the poolgoers. He shrugged; it was worth a shot. Choosing from among the shoes to find the cleanest ones that appeared to be close to his size, Vincent slipped off his boots and slid his feet haltingly into a pair of infernal flip flops. “Cid,” he said, turning to reveal the bikini-wearing body of a woman perhaps a few years beyond acceptable bikini-wearing age.

“Eh?” Cid said, turning around.  “Someone say my name?”  He was pretty sure that he didn’t know anyone here.  Hell, he hardly knew anyone really.  Par for the course for being with Vincent, but he knew that.  Still…

“Cid,” Vincent said, taking a step forward. “Let’s go ho—what is this.” He finally looked down at himself, eyes going wide and even more panicked. “Cid, what’s happening?”

Cid’s eyebrow raised slowly.  “Seems t’ me y’ missed the memo ‘bout age ‘n bikinis, lady.  Even I know I ain’t got th’ body t’ pull off them little swimtrunks I’m seein’ on the dudes around here.  Hey,” he said, blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.  “Do I know you?  ‘Cause you seem t’ know me.  What’s in these drinks anyway,” he muttered, eyeballing the red liquid.

“Cid,” Vincent said desperately, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward. “Let’s go home. I don’t care what’s going on here.” He reached out to take Cid’s hand, tugging him closer.

“Oi woman!” Cid shouted, pulling his hand back as though he were burned.  Deeply unsettled, Cid rose to his feet and backed up, putting the table between him and the obviously confused woman.  “Look, ma’am,” he said, calming himself down, the buzz he had been cultivating evaporating like so much dew in the sunlight.  “I don’t know why y’ know my name, but I’m sure y’ got a husband ‘r somethin’ lookin’ for ya- an’ with all due respect, I ain’t gonna take ya home with me.”

“Cid,” Vincent said again. “It’s _me_.” He clearly wasn’t going to get anywhere like this…or at least nowhere that he wanted to get. Sighing, he returned the shoes to the line where he’d found them and reached over to put his own back on—but they were gone.

“ _Where_ are my shoes!?” he demanded, but no one could hear him. He tried grabbing at Cid and his hand simply went through the man’s shoulder.

Fine. He would take care of his work first. Lurking in the cooler would be far easier now, anyway. Once the culprit was located and removed, then Vincent could turn his attention back to Cid.

Except that his attention never really left Cid, not anymore. Even as he squinted menacingly at errant staff groping each other in the cooler, he hoped that Cid would be quite all right and, more importantly, that he could get back to himself and leave this wretched place.

****

The woman had disappeared as quickly as she had appeared with only one difference: Cid had been looking right at her.  Blinking and rubbing his eyes, Cid looked at his drink again with a little more fear this time.  Maybe he really should stop drinking if he was hallucinating and having conversations with said hallucinations.  Rubbing his face, Cid gave in and went to look for Vincent.

*****

The worst part about the experience, Vincent reflected as he was jostled about in the cooler, was that for a moment or two, he’d felt a disappointment that didn’t seem linked to Cid not recognizing him. That had brought him more frustration than anything. No, the disappointment hadn’t felt like _his,_ because Vincent wouldn’t have cared if Cid had said he shouldn’t wear a bikini. Vincent knew damn well that he didn’t belong in a bikini. It was unsettling, almost more unsettling than the feeling of people walking through him when he failed to get out of the way of the rolling carts in time.

Vincent sighed and crossed his arms, shivering at the weird feeling. That was all for later…but so was watching the kitchen. Everything happened at night, anyway, according to the reports. In the meantime, he’d try again to get back to Cid, and maybe then the twitchy feeling would leave him and he could focus on his work.

****

“… about yea tall with black hair ‘n red eyes, y’ couldn’t o’ possibly missed ‘im!” Cid said emphatically, waving his arms a little at the poor maître d’, who looked a bit shell-shocked to have a slightly drunk man narrowly missing punching him in the nose.

“Sir, please try to remain calm,” the maître d’ said soothingly.  “I remember seeing your friend and I believe he is investigating a rather pressing issue for us-“

“Yeah, yeah, y’ got someone filchin’ yer food, I know,” Cid said crossing his arms and doing his best to appear imposing.  “But that was several hours ago an’ he hasn’t checked back in.  Y’ mind if I go ‘n look for ‘im?”

“Yes, sir, as a matter of fact I do,” the maître d’ said sternly.  “Look, if you would be so kind as to remain here, I’ll have someone go and look for him in just a moment.”

Cid harrumphed but finally agreed and assumed a position leaning against the far wall, thick arms still crossed over his chest.  “Y’better find ‘im, now, I’m warnin’ ya,” he grumbled.

The maître d did his best not to roll his eyes and summoned a waiter over to him.  After quickly explaining the situation to the young man, he gave Cid a placating smile as the waiter hurried off.

Vincent stopped halfway out of the kitchen upon hearing Cid’s voice. An odd warmth filled him at the sound of Cid’s desperation to find him, and he quickly scanned around for some way to make himself known. He tried putting on a jacket that was hung on the wall, but his arms went through it. Someone had left a pair of sandals just beneath, though, no doubt trading them in for the mandatory closed-toe shoes upon entering the kitchen.

Glancing around him and hoping that no one was staring precisely in his direction, Vincent slid his feet into the surprisingly accommodating but unpleasantly damp shoes, if they could be called that. Burning anger filled him almost instantly as he took on the shape of the waiter who had been sent to find him. He headed back toward Cid, startled by the gait that seemed natural to this body. It was very…aggressive. This boy was quite tired of his job, and even more tired, it seemed, of the people around him.

“Cid,” he said, hoping that his claims to be himself would hold a bit more credence now that he didn’t have breasts.

“Did’ja find ‘im?” Cid asked eagerly, unfolding his arms and taking a quick step forward, not thinking twice about the waiter knowing his name.  He figured that the maître d’ had probably told him.  Nor did he notice that the waiter had not been gone that long.  “Where is ‘e?” Cid dismissed the young man to peer hopefully over the white-clad shoulder.

“I’m right here!” Vincent said, leaning forward into Cid’s space and trying to get the man to look into his eyes. It was an incredibly annoying endeavor, because the waiter whose body he was borrowing seemed to be very upset by eye contact. Vincent could remember having supervisors. Eye contact was intimidating, and eventually you got conditioned out of it.

“Get back to work, you lying little prick!” one of the other wait staff called. “Can’t you see he’s upset? Why the hell would you play head games with somebody like that? God, and here I’d been hoping you’d ask me out soon. My mom always said I had shitty taste in men.”

The body Vincent was in recoiled without his permission. The eyes filled with tears, blurring his vision, and Vincent couldn’t help but wholeheartedly support the young man’s decision to storm away into the cooler. Vincent had the presence of mind to hurriedly shake off the shoes as the door swung shut.

Cid blinked, startled at the whole exchange.  “Hey now!”  He yelled back at the offending waiter.  “Y’ leave th’ kid alone!  Y’ ever think maybe ‘e was tryin’ t’ make m’ feel better?  Huh?”  The alcohol coupled with his anxiety at a missing Vincent and anger at the cruel waiter made his cheeks ruddy.  “An’ who th’ hell’d ask you out anyway, y’ bat-faced, cross-eyed, hairy son of a chocobo?!”

 “Sir!  Please, keep it down!”  The maître d’ said, rushing towards Cid, hands outstretched but not touching the wound-up drunk man.  “I’ll speak with my wait staff immediately for the outburst but one more from you and I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“I have t’ find Vincent,” Cid said stubbornly, refusing to back down.  “Now either you’re gonna help me ‘r I’m gonna tear this place apart, which’ll it be?”

The maître d’ groaned and covered his eyes with one hand, begging for continued patience.  When he met Cid’s eyes again he was a little calmer, but only a little.  “Sir, please, can you take a seat?  I’ll double the personnel looking for you friend if you please just remain calm.”

Cid eyed the frazzled maître d’ for a long, tense minute before huffing and reluctantly taking a seat.   The maître d’ thanked whatever god wanted to listen to him and clapped his hands, summoning two more wait staff over and without further procrastination, sent them off on their mission.

****

There were very few things to be done about a situation like this one. Of course, Vincent wasn’t quite sure that there ever had been another situation like this one. His best bet, he figured, was to hurry to find his own shoes. If not his, then those of someone who looked close enough to him to fool Cid.

But Vincent was beginning to understand that Cid wouldn’t be fooled, not when it came to him. Cid had shown a remarkable kind of attachment to him that Vincent had known about but not really known, and it made him want even more to be able to reveal himself. If only he could at least _touch_ Cid; perhaps that would reassure him. He waited beside Cid for a while once the man sat down, but it made Vincent anxious, just waiting around and making no progress. If Cid would go back to their room—if he would just go back to their room and open the door long enough for Vincent to slip in behind him, then Vincent could get back into his own shoes and put all this behind him.

****

Cid, of course, was oblivious to Vincent’s plight.  He was more concerned with the staff’s lack of progress as the waiters came back over and over shrugging their shoulders and shaking their heads sheepishly.  Finally the maître d’ had agreed to let Cid go with the wait staff until he was satisfied that they in fact hadn’t hidden Vincent away from him.  Torn between sorrow and renewed panic, Cid wracked his fuzzy brain on what he should do when he remembered his cell phone.  Surely Vincent had remembered to put his cell phone in his pocket.  Taking the small device out, Cid punched in Vincent’s number and waited anxiously as it rang and rang…

****

Vincent was still getting the hang of cell phones. One thing he had learned about them was that having them on one’s person during an operation that requires silence was a disaster waiting to happen. Thus his phone, rather than being on his person, was on the table beside the large bed in their hotel room.

This was going nowhere, and all it was doing was upsetting Cid. An upset Cid led directly to an upset Vincent, and the fact that Vincent couldn’t do anything to fix it was—well. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he experienced a limit break while invisible in the middle of a hotel. Nothing good was the probable answer.

So it was back out to the pool, where most people had packed up for the evening but some shoes still remained accessible. He chose better-looking shoes this time, a pair that looked like they must belong to a handsome businessman with no worries and a company account.

They did indeed belong to a handsome businessman. His hair was dark and his eyes a bright brown, reflecting back at him in a mirror. His worries were such that Vincent thought he could feel physical weight on his shoulders, and his company account had been terminated when his position had been deemed no longer necessary. He had come out to the pool still in his fine clothes, just to dip his feet into the water. Vincent could see him on the other side of the pool. Why had he walked so very far away from his shoes? People were so strange and silly…and sad.

Vincent brought his borrowed body inside, feeling the strong urge to visit the bar. He wanted to get drunk and then to scout someone to share a room with him, someone who wouldn’t remind him of the wife who had just divorced him.

The whirlwind of feelings was too intense, and Vincent was just about to kick off the shoes right in the middle of the lobby when he heard Cid’s voice. He headed toward it and decided to take a different approach this time. “You’re looking for someone too?” he asked in a smooth voice nowhere near as deep as his own.

“Huh?” Cid grunted, turning towards the voice.  A good-looking middle aged man with a keen expression on his face looked back at him.  “Oh- uh, yeah, yeah I am.  I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”  Cid asked a little shakily. 

“Maybe. I think I’ve found who I’m looking for, in any case,” Vincent said, carefully placing one oddly tanned hand on Cid’s knee. It looked wrong, and Vincent’s spark of jealously coincided with a pang of heartache and an image of a blue-eyed woman. For a moment she completely overtook Cid in his line of vision, and the result was disorienting and upsetting—or maybe those were the other man’s feelings, upset and disoriented at being made to make advances toward a stranger.

“Uh,” Cid laughed uneasily.  Carefully, he eased the man’s hand off of his knee.  “Look guy, I’m uh- I’m flattered okay?  But- uh, I don’t- I don’t swing that way, all right?”  He moved back a little ways from the business man, keeping a wary eye on him.

Vincent was momentarily taken aback. It was difficult for him to remember sometimes that he was the first man Cid had been with. Everything seemed so natural with them, even though there had been lots of initial roadblocks. He laughed, keeping the sound as low as he could. “I’m sorry. The one you’re looking for, he’s not your lover?”

Warning bells went off in Cid’s head and he narrowed his blue eyes.  “What’re y’ talkin’ about?” he asked suspiciously.  If this man had done something to Vincent…

Why so evasive? Did Cid not want the world to know about them? The idea saddened Vincent a little even though he understood it. “It’s just…you said you were looking for someone and asked if I’d seen ‘him,’ so I thought…I’m sorry, I must have been mistaken.”

Cid snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.  “Y’ jumped t’ conclusions, ‘s what y’ did.  My relationship t’ the guy I’m lookin’ for is none ‘o yer damn business.”

Well then. Vincent blinked, wondering if the guy whose body he was borrowing could maybe help him out a little bit. “That’s just what my wife said when I approached her last month,” the unfamiliar voice said, rasping a little. Vincent jumped, having not anticipated that. It was maybe time to find some new shoes. “I’m sorry,” Vincent added. “I don’t know what I’m thinking, coming to you like this.”

Vincent had thought he’d forgotten the utterly overwhelming feeling of heartbreak, but this man was freshly in it, and Vincent was finding himself a bit shell-shocked. “I hope you find the one you’re looking for,” he managed to choke out, but only with help from David. “If you decide you want some company after all, my name’s David. I’m in 203 in the Hobbs building, just, the food is better in this kitchen.” He laughed again, nervously.

It didn’t seem like a good idea to reveal himself to Cid now, better just to go. Standing and preparing to head back to the pool, he extended a hand and waited for Cid to shake it.

“No problem,” Cid said cautiously, taking the man’s hand.  “I hope y’ get yer issues worked out, man, ‘cause let’s face it, ‘y look like shit.”  When the businessman left, Cid let out a long breath.  Just where had Vincent brought them anyway?  _Bunch ‘o kooks runnin’ around_ , Cid thought, running his fingers through his hair.  Maybe it was time for another drink after all.  At least then he might fit in with the rest of the crowd.

****

Vincent happily ditched David’s shoes where he’d found them, watching the poor man wander around at the other side of the pool, presumably looking for his shoes while scratching at the back of his head. Vincent whispered an apology into the air; David was having a bad enough day without having his shoes disappear. At least he hadn’t turned in time to face his doppelganger.

Night was well and truly upon them now, nearly all the partygoers headed inside and the pools emptying out. Cid would need to sleep soon. He’d go back to their room for that, wouldn’t he? And Vincent could follow him there.

There was only one last option. The final pair of shoes were things the likes of which Vincent would never consider wearing for any other reason. He could see their owner, dancing barefoot with the last of the revelers under a string of party lights. Biting his lip, he slipped his feet into the strappy, high-heeled monstrosities and gasped as his new body wobbled on the unsteady support. Steeling himself and relying on Sheila’s instincts, Vincent headed back inside.

He asked a couple of other people first, just so as not to appear too suspicious, then made his way to Cid. “Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for a Mr. …Hyland? Hi…Highwind? Cid Highwind?”

Cid sighed into his glass.  _Oh god, not another one, he thought resignedly._   “That’d be me, lady, and no, I don’t want yer comp’ny tonight though I’m sure it’d be nice.  No, I don’t care if yer lookin’ for someone, or if your dog ran away or your kid got lost in th’ garden out back.  I do not care if th’ staff didn’t cook your coffee right or didn’t clean your room t’ your satisfaction.”  Cid took another drink.  “Now that bein’ said, what c’n I do for ya.”

Oh my. Vincent blinked, stepping back once. Poor Cid, so worn down. “You sound like you’ve had quite the day. Anyway, I just wanted to pass on a message, from someone named Vincent.” Someone passing by groped Sheila’s admittedly tempting ass. Vincent whirled, going unsteady once more on the heels. “Ex _cuse_ me!”

Vincent’s reaction was nothing compared to the contempt that bubbled up within Sheila. She’d been fighting off such approaches all night, it seemed. It made Vincent feel instantly guilty for using David’s body to come onto Cid.

Cid caught the woman’s body as she teetered precariously on her high heels.  “Careful now,” he muttered.  “Them things’ll kill ya.  I swear I dunno how you ladies c’n walk in ‘em.”  He sighed and let go when the woman became more vertically stable.  He didn’t know what to think about her confession of having a message from Vincent.  Cid was beginning to think that his worst fear had come true and Vincent had up and left him.  “Y’ said y’ had a message from Vincent?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s right! Thank you.” Shifting into a more comfortable stance, Vincent cleared the throat he was borrowing. “He wanted me to tell you, and I’m quoting here, ‘Sorry I missed the rendezvous, Chief. Everything’s fine, just had to disappear to get the job done right. Get some sleep and I’ll see you soon.’ I’m not sure what he’s up to, but I understand about disappearing. I’m a journalist. It’s the only reason I come to these stupid things,” Vincent said, surprising himself by just how much information he had discovered about this woman without trying. “Blending in can be pretty problematic, especially when you’re as…striking as him.” His first word choice had been “unusual,” but Vincent had learned that nearly insulting Vincent was a good way to make an enemy of Cid.

Cid chuckled.  “Yeah, but y’ know?  I wouldn’t have ‘im any other way.”  He sighed and gave the woman a tired smile, deciding to believe the woman, not having enough energy to do otherwise.  “Can I buy ya a drink?  Least I c’n do for givin’ me th’ message.”

“Oh, no thank you. It’s quite all right, I was happy for an excuse to get away from the crowd. I hate coming to these things alone, but Katie hates them more.” After laughing quietly, he added, “Sorry, just what I mean is, I only drink with her. You might call me a lightweight, or you might just call me sentimental.” Sheila winked, and Vincent realized that it was far past time to give her shoes back to her. She probably would be wanting to escape the party soon. Besides, the longer he stayed, the less control he seemed to have, and that seemed dangerous.

“You should go and get some rest, though, like he said. You look exhausted, and something tells me he wouldn’t approve of that.” Vincent could see in his borrowed mind’s eye a blonde stringbean of a woman give a longsuffering sigh and mouth something like “take better care of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t mind an escort to my room, though, if it’s on the way to yours.”

Cid chuckled.  “No ‘ffence ma’am, but you’re not my mother.  ‘Sides, I can’t sleep without ‘im anymore.”  Cid blushed and rubbed the back of his neck bashfully.  He picked up the glass of alcohol.  “Prob’ly could if I drank enough ‘o this stuff though.”  He took another drink and set the glass down to offer the woman his arm.  “Be glad t’ walk ya t’ your room though, ma’am.”

When Vincent got his body back, he was going to kill Cid. Or kiss him a lot. Maybe kiss him to death. The man was exhausting and completely impossible not to love. “If you refused to go to bed, I’m supposed to tell you that you’re insufferable and that…well, and that he loves you very much,” Vincent said, feeling heat rise to Sheila’s cheeks. “Not that he said it quite like that, but it was quite obviously the idea.”

Vincent took Cid’s arm, realizing quite suddenly that he had no idea which room—right. 326. Not that it did him much good, because he couldn’t break into the woman’s room and he couldn’t very well disappear in front of Cid. “Well, shoot. For all your chivalry, I think I left my key down by the floating bar. I guess I’ll leave you to it.” Vincent sighed, enjoying a lingering gaze at Cid. “Just remember Vincent wants you safe, not in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.” He let go of Cid’s arm, raised an eyebrow, and then trotted off somewhat less awkwardly with a casual wave over his shoulder.

He needed to find his fucking shoes.

Baffled at the woman’s behavior and yet not entirely surprised either, Cid shook his head and sat back down at the table he had ended up at.  Everyone was acting weird here.  Mournfully, he picked up his glass and took another drink, draining it.  “Where are ya, Vincent?” he asked softly.  Without lifting his eyes from the table, he raised his now-empty glass as a waiter walked by his table.  “’Nother,” he grunted as the man took the glass in passing.

****

There was very little else for Vincent to do now other than his job. He would have to be content in the knowledge that Cid was a big boy and could take care of himself, even if their definitions of adequate care didn’t quite align. In the meantime, he thanked Sheila, wondering vaguely if the real version of her had noticed any disturbance, ditched her shoes, and headed back to the kitchens to watch out for these supposed thieves.

Hours passed and nothing happened, except the growth of an already powerful desire to be with Cid.  Vincent forced himself to stay put until after sunrise, and the most interesting conversations began to take place around him.

“That guy who came in to check out the, uh, food theft, he never came back. You think he figured it out already?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t seem very smart to me.”

“Yeah, well, neither was this scheme. Seriously, he couldn’t have come up with anything better?”

“Hey, desperation is a serious problem.”

“Yeah, you’d know.”

“Anyway, does this mean we get to stop pretending that shit’s getting stolen now? I’m sick of lying about being out of stuff and pissing people off.”

“…Yeah, yeah, I guess we just say we got a fresh truck if he tells us to start bullshitting again.”

So there was no thief and no food shortage? Dio had called them here for no reason…or had he been tricked by someone else’s scheme? Bizarre, but no more bizarre, Vincent supposed, than his own current state of existence.

There was only one thing to do to find out the truth of this. Normally it would involve breaking into the boss’ office and rooting through files, but this time…Vincent would have to get the man out of his shoes. It sounded tedious, daunting, and bit disgusting, but Vincent was a man who liked answers.

First order of business: check on Cid. Then he could hunt down Dio, get to the bottom of everything, and get out of here—maybe even in his own body.

****

Cid had finally found sleep after racking up quite a substantial tab.  He had ended up passing out at the table he was seated at and one of the sympathetic wait staff ended up helping him up to his room.  Cid had removed his key, let himself into his room and fallen face-down long-ways across the bed.  He was still in that position when a shaft of sunlight across his eyeball woke him up via a lancing pain through his temples.  Following that was the dry mouth and an overwhelming urge to vomit.  Dragging himself off of the bed, he crawled into the bathroom and proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach, relishing the feel of cool porcelain on his heated flesh.

****

Cid’s door was closed and he was nowhere else to be found, not even lurking at the breakfast bar or near the pool where Vincent had initially left him. That led Vincent to believe that Cid had, at some point, finally made his way to bed. He wished he could make sure, but his attempts to get through the door had proven futile. He hadn’t been able to pass through any walls, in fact, but each time he tried to touch a person, his hand moved straight through. It was baffling and infuriating, but he didn’t have much choice aside from working with it.

The entire day passed fruitlessly, and Vincent was in fact unable to find Dio until the end of that night. He’d hidden all along, learning to enjoy being out of sight. When Dio headed back to his room, Vincent was on his heels. He slipped into the room by passing through Dio’s body, which was strange and uncomfortable, and then he stopped in his tracks, blinking and slightly horrified.

The majority of the suite was innocuous enough, but on the desk in the bedroom were pictures of a very familiar face. There was Cloud fighting in the battle squares of the Gold Saucer, eyes hard and far away; it must have been taken on their first trip here, before Vincent had joined them. Here and there were newspaper clippings from throughout the years, accounts of Cloud doing this and that, even a cropped version of their group photo from the recent incident at old Midgar. There was even a photo of Cloud that Vincent had never seen, only heard the sketchiest of rumors about—pigtails and a dress that was actually quite flattering. He couldn’t imagine where Dio had gotten such a thing, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to try. He also wasn’t sure that he wanted to know what happened next; Dio had flopped onto his bed and reached for one of the photos.

It seemed like a good time for Vincent to slip into the man’s shoes and out of his door, so he did just that, and halfway down the hall was overcome with such a strong longing for Cloud that he thought he might become sick.

At least now he had a familiar body with which to check on Cid, so despite the late hour, he headed for their room and knocked on the door.

Cid jerked awake suddenly and groaned.  Peeling his face off of the seat of the toilet, he felt only marginally better.  At least he felt well enough to brave the public.  Staggering to his feet and wincing at the resumed heartbeat in his temples, he lay across the sink and somehow, actually managed to wash his face.  He squirted some toothpaste into his mouth and used a finger to rub it over his teeth, spat and then rinsed his mouth out.  Straightening up, he eyed himself in the mirror.  God, he looked like death warmed over, but it was an accurate visualization of how he felt since Vincent had disappeared.  With a sigh, Cid made his slow way over to the door.  Maybe someone would take pity on him and loan him some aspirin, or a potion or… _something_ to help with this damned headache.

Vincent faltered as soon as he saw Cid’s face, heart twisting. “Cid. Is everything all right?” he asked, trying his best to maintain the integrity of Dio’s usual mannerisms. It was difficult in the face of seeing Cid like this and knowing it was his fault.

Cid wilted as yet another largely unknown individual, seemed to know his name.  Though he knew Dio, it was only superficially, and he had never given his name, instead deferring to Cloud to do all the speaking with the eccentric bodybuilder.  “Yep, peachy,” he grumbled, not wanting to chat with the man.  “Would be better if I had some aspirin.  Y’ got any?”

“I haven’t, but I’ve got some…well.” Vincent ducked his head. “Some news? More like an admission. See, I…well.” This was not going the way Vincent had planned. Dio didn’t seem to be much for making admissions. “Your friend, Vincent? I’m afraid he’ll be looking rather a long time if he’s hoping to find something amiss. You see, I… no one’s been stealing anything. The only one making a fool of me has been myself. I was hoping that I might get to visit with Cloud a while when he came by to investigate. I didn’t really count on him sending other people in his place. What I mean to say is…I’m afraid I’ve rigged the whole situation. Old habits die hard. I’m going to get in touch with Vincent as soon as I can and send the two of you on home, with my apologies and an offer to return any time you like. In the meantime, I’ll have room service bring you up something for your head.”

From the corner of his eye, Vincent spotted his shoes. He just had to work out how to grab them while Cid wasn’t looking. “Oh—is Vincent back already?” he asked, indicating the boots.

Cid blinked once, twice, then a third time before he blurted.  “Cloud?”  He balled his fists by his sides and felt a spike in his headache to near nuclear proportions.  “This has all been about _Cloud_?”  He took a step towards Dio.  “You faked it all?”  He roared.  “You mean t’ tell me that me an’ Vincent got volunteered to come out here t’ this crazy camp for wackos ‘n I had to endure strange people I’ve never met before comin’ on t’ me ‘n talkin’ t’ me like we’re bestest of buddies ‘n Vincent’s been crawlin’ around in god knows where all because y’ got a boner for Cloud?” 

Cid couldn’t take it anymore.  “Look,” he growled, putting a finger in Dio’s face.  “Y’ see Vincent, y’ send ‘im t’ the airfield all right?  I ain’t stayin’ here a minute longer, headache ‘r no.  Maybe Vincent’ll turn up, maybe ‘e won’t.  Maybe the crazy old lady in the scary bikini ate ‘im, I don’t know!  But I’m tired ‘o people tellin’ me that ‘e’s onto somethin’ or followin’ some lead or t’ go back t’ my room like I’m their kid ‘r somethin’.  I’m done!  I’m tired ‘o getting’ jerked around!”  With that, Cid turned on his heel and stormed out of the resort.

Well. That had been easier than Vincent had expected. He felt bad for annoying Cid, but at the same time…well, perhaps it was for the better that he had delivered this news in Dio’s place. Vincent reflected, as he toed off Dio’s shoes and slipped back into his own, that in this particular moment he knew exactly how Cid felt—and he didn’t even have to try on the pilot’s trusty workboots for that insight.

Gathering up their few belongings and tossing Dio’s shoes into the hallway, Vincent relished the natural movements of his body and the ability to think without being interrupted by someone else’s thoughts. He’d taken quite a few things for granted, now that he considered it.

Even so, he definitely knew the value of the man waiting for him on the airship, and he made only a brief stop to pick up a late-night meal and a bottle of pain medication. It still didn’t take him long to find the ship, and he didn’t hesitate even a moment before wrenching open the door and slamming it shut behind him. He agreed with Cid; it was more than time to turn their backs on this place.

“It’s time to get out of this nuthouse,” he called without even looking for Cid. “Take us home, Chief.” Let Cid ever think again that Vincent wouldn’t come back to him.  “I could tell you about the kind of day I had, but I’m not sure you’d even believe me.”

Cid jerked awake from where he had dozed off when he heard Vincent storming through the airship.  Sniffing and wiping his nose, the cranky pilot pushed himself up and made his way to the wheelhouse, muttering and cursing the whole way.  “Yeah?” He said to Vincent who was waiting for him, staring out of the front windows, an invisible black cloud over his head as usual.  “Well, you think _you’ve_ had a bad day?  Just once I wish you’d take a stroll in _my_ shoes!”

 

                                                     -------------Epilogue-----------

Cloud didn’t believe them. How could he? It was completely ridiculous that the resort tycoon Dio even remembered his name, much less…much less…no. It was far too much.

Even so, he’d resolved to get to the bottom of it, just to get it off his mind, and so here he was.

Just as he stepped onto the elevator, mentally berating Cid, Vincent, and Dio for conspiring to try to get him to take a vacation he didn’t need or want, Cloud heard a voice over the sound of the elevator doors closing. _“Having some trouble seeing through the eyes of others? Perhaps it’s time to try walking in their shoes.”_

Cloud whirled around to find the source of the voice, but all he could see were the shiny walls of the elevator, not a single one of them showing his reflection.

**Author's Note:**

> Shhh, don't ask how Vincent's shoes got back to the room ;_; Details, details.


End file.
